The Fate That Is Death

The Fate That Is Death

Mindless, heedless, far from seedless.
Bent on using man’s own weakness.

Hades calmly takes his toll.
Empty husks, abandoned souls.

Wont to take all that he sees.
Will not yield all that is his.

Planted deep beneath the soil,
no resting place, this life’s foil.

Expect this fate so deeply flawed.
Yet swear no oath to this foul god.

 

This poem is my response to Poetics: Persephone, the dVerse prompt in which Sarah asks us to write “a poem that bubbles up from this mixed up family saga, a poem that smells of spring, or is touched by the dark fingers of the lord of the dead.” I chose the latter, Hades.

Image source: Wikimedia Commons

Lemonade In August ~ haibun

Lemonade In August

This late summer month, when the wind seldom gusts and the heat clings to the skin with an air of resignation, the knowledge that its persistence will not last, this month was your favorite. In your retirement you spent more time outdoors than in, as you gardened, tended to your animals, and prepared for the coming change in weather. Shirtless while mowing your acres of lawn or relaxing with a game of horseshoes, you wore that warm sun like it was your own. You were born to this month, and I always did see it as yours. You are always on my mind, but most especially in this month.

lemonade
beneath a hot sun
the still air

This haibun is my response to Haibun Monday 8-2-21: August,
the prompt from Frank Tassone at dVerse ~ Poets Pub.

Image source: PNGITEM

shimmers on the highway ~ haiku & gogyohka

falling rain
spatters my windshield
misty roads

moon greets me
during my travels
follows me

shimmers on the highway
wait to greet my tires
relief of cool air in the car
at the far end of our trip
family waits to greet us

 

These haiku and gogyohka are my response to Frank Tassone’s #Haikai Challenge #195-197 (Trifecta), which offers three kigo:
                    #195 – midsummer rain
                    #196 – summer moon
                    #197 – smoldering hot

While Frank’s prompts are related to the the last three weeks of June, these haiku are influenced by my travel in mid/late July.

Memories

Memories

are made, not with wishes,
but by moments lived, understood.
Let those moments pass untouched
and you will never know them.
Let no one say you can’t take it with you.
Once experienced, those memories are yours.

This poem is my response to Poetics: The Proverbial, the prompt from Merril at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which asks us to incorporate a proverb into a poem.

Stream of Consciousness ~ quadrille

Stream of Consciousness

Thoughts pass
one to another,
flowing in a manner
that brings to mind
a vision of a stream,
its clarity a marvel
unsurpassed,
its course unquestioned,
revealed in the direction
a mind will take it,
a mind perceives it.

Thus is an idea born.

This poem is my response to Quadrille #132 Your Poem Theme: Stream, the prompt from De Jackson at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is to use a form of the word stream in a 44-word poem, with no required meter or rhyme.

Ride the Waves ~ chant poetry

Here’s a pause in my travels this month, with a response to a dVerse prompt.

Ride the Waves

light-sparkles-on-waves

    Erie Basin Marina, Buffalo, New York

Waves flow in the air that surrounds me.
Waves flow in the emotions within me.
Waves flow in the love found within me.
Above me.
Around me.
Beneath me.
Release me from constraints.
All that I fear
falls to the side.
Fall with me.
Fall freely.
Fall for the love
found in the waves.
Found within me.
Found within you.
Found, never to be lost
as we ride our waves of love.

 

With Meet the bar with Chant poetry at dVerse Poets Pub, Björn asks us to write a poem in the form of a chant, with the use of extreme repetition.

Kansas

Kansas

Kansasas in not in
anymore
but you are

barely in
KC BBQ
a reminder

wheels rolling
across plains
not so plain

hills rolling
from flint to smoke
at 75 miles per

grasshoppers nod
among remnants of wheat
in fresh-cut fields

destination, family
where words roll
in stories told

heat in the air
nothing compared to
warmth in the tales

with bonds
stronger than the hills
deeper than the bottoms

bonds now stronger yet
make parting
no easy task

hills, once more
until, finally
not there, anymore
 

A weekend trip took us to Kansas, where we celebrated Independence Day at a family gathering.

There’s nothing massive about the Flint Hills and the Smoky Hills of Kansas, but they still provide terrain with a striking view.

(Kansas City straddles the Missouri River and the Kansas-Missouri border.)

More travel for two weeks to visit family (starting Saturday) will means less time checking into WordPress.

Image: Library of Congress “a pumpjack, sometimes referred to as a ‘grasshopper’ oil pump because of its appearance”